Falling Faster than I can Fly
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Once Voldemort has fallen, Harry acquaints himself with the cost of their victory while everyone else seems to be obliviously celebrating. Why can't anyone understand? Very light HP/HG. May or may not continue. Reposted. Reason for why inside.


**A/N:** _Hello._ _*waves sheepishly* No your eyes are not deceiving you- I am reposting this (it's exactly the same as before, so don't worry. The only change is this author's note) because it was brought to my attention that my written desire for reviews possibly came off as selfish, rude, and vulgar. I am really sorry if I offended anyone because calling myself what I did didn't seem offensive to me, but at second glance, I realize that it probably was to some people. And am I like that normally? I certainly hope not. I would hope that someone would tell me if I was, just like they did here, so thanks for letting me know. (And how can I honestly say that I'm nice to other people when I can't even be nice to myself? I completely understand where this is coming from!) I also understood too late how a comment like that may have been taken (as jokingly as I may have intended it, a joke is irrelevant if no one believes it to be a joke). This isn't the first time my sarcasm has gotten me into trouble, and it probably won't be the last either. I am being serious now however... I love reviews just as much as the next person who write (I mean, who doesn't?), but please don't review if you are not absolutely compelled by how this is written. :D I was hoping that calling myself such was a funny way to say that I'm ALWAYS appreciative of reviews, no matter the length (I try to reply to each review when I have the time...it's the least I can do in return!), but perhaps I should've looked more into how the phrase is used because I am so not like the stereotype. :( I write for myself and there's rarely been a time that I've posted something I didn't also like, so I am sorry! I'm really not that way; writing just so other people will review... I post things so other people can enjoy them (because let's face it...Harry Potter fan-fiction isn't the same as it used to be because people are moving on), reviews or not, but I write firstly for myself. Please accept my apology. :( I never meant to come off as some attention-seeking idiot who only wanted reviews and nothing else. *sighs* And with that, whether you skipped over this note or not, here's my reposted fan-fiction, which may or may not continue... I am still unsure. I have two more chapters written for this, but this one is definitely the one I like best. I really do hope you enjoy it. *smiles weakly* __  
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The tattered remains of broken individuals were scattered throughout the plain—how was ordinary life supposed to continue after so much carnage had spoiled the view? Even the last one to fall was still floating away in the wind, and as Harry surveyed the damage, he felt an overwhelming feeling of _loss_. There was so much loss—there was so much blood. There were so many families sliced into pieces, never to be whole again. It was no longer all his fault, but still he carried the burden. Perhaps that is what Lord Voldemort had always meant by, _"I'm going to destroy you."_ The mourning alone for so many lives lost (disappeared, gone, _obliterated_) and what could have been would destroy a greater man, and Harry knew that in spite of the eagerness of the ones who had survived, who would be proud to _touch_ the Boy-Who-Conquered, that no one understood this kind of pain. He not only felt the vacancy of each individual—another comrade who should be among the number celebrating instead of lying in such filth—but the loss of each as a whole. How could he explain to anyone how sorry he was?

The joy seemed to vanish as quickly as it had come, and even now he was receiving hugs from people who he had believed to disappeared like the other silent ones, yet before he could get over his shock (his absolute _giddiness_ that another soul had made it out alive), he'd find another soul to take their place in his quiet way of mourning. For each person accounted for, it seemed like three were lost in the battle. The numbers didn't add up—they had been losing and losing quite badly. He almost began to believe the words the Dark Lord had said… _"There is no greater dishonor…"_ Was it the same if they had volunteered to fight for the cause? It was imperative to know.

But no one could tell him the answer.

He chanced upon Hermione later that morning, and even though she sensed not all was well with Harry Potter, she didn't offer up the answer he had been seeking. "You must be so relieved, Harry…._You must be so relieved_." Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't. Relieved the final blow had cost so many? It didn't seem to make sense at all.

Confused, he questioned. "Relieved about—?"

Something sharp appeared in her gaze, something inquisitive…cunning. He almost smiled. She was notorious in her search for knowledge. It was something he quite admired in her, though he wouldn't be caught dea—he wouldn't be caught saying it aloud. "Why Harry, surely you're relieved there's no more war to worry about? We can finally get on with our lives! I've been meaning to talk to McGonagall about enrolling next year for N.E.W.T. purposes."

Harry nodded listlessly at her response. The pursuit of knowledge always came first—always. Even being so bitter in thinking this, in _believing_ this, Hermione proved him wrong again.

"Harry? Is there something wrong?" He probably should have come up with something to say, like how he wasn't coming back to the school ever again because he no longer needed to…just so her rage would be authentic, and they could have a merry time reminiscing about how they were supposed to act now that evil no longer cast a shadow over every exchange. Was the friendship he had with Ron and Hermione tethered to Voldemort all along? Would he _really_ have been an arrogant, pompous brat that Snape had always insisted—

Snape. Another casualty.

Sighing and bowing his head as if in prayer, Harry relented quietly, "No." He was well-aware she wouldn't buy this, but how could he explain how he felt? He should rest easy now. There would no longer be nightmares to face every night—at least, if he were part of the general population. But Harry was so far from finding peace that he feared he would never secure it now. He had wondered how things would play out if he managed to survive, but he really hadn't believed he would make it this far. It seemed to be another reminder of his frailty that he continued to exist when others hadn't…it would drive him to madness eventually.

"Harry, don't do this. You know it doesn't help."

He shrugged noncommittally, wondering when she would just give up (actually, _hoping_ she would. He didn't need another lecture about how this was none of his fault. He had heard it so many times he could recite it from memory.) "I—I'm sorry Hermione," he apologized, hoping to consolidate her with this. "I don't know how to explain it."

Her eyebrows furrowed together, almost in understanding. "Is it you and Ginny? Is everything…okay?"

He didn't think he could think about Ginny now. After what had happened to her brother…well, it was lucky that Ron and the rest of the Weasleys were still talking to him after her very frank and blatant rejection. It was something he had suspected would happen someday—it just seemed too good to be true to find someone that wanted him like _that_. He would've easily accepted Hermione, but they just weren't attracted to one another…it would've never worked out.

He shook his head in reply after a long moment of thought. "No, I think we were doomed from the start in a way—"

Hermione seemed willing to understand, if not a bit perplexed. "You—you still love her don't you?"

Harry managed a half chuckle. "I can't imagine I would walk away from someone I had invested so much in so soon."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she remarked, leaning forwards and giving his arm a squeeze. Harry wondered when he had sat down on the cool stone facing her—he couldn't recall doing so.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry shrugged, pouncing upon a reason for his more than obvious lethargy. "'Wasn't your fault after all."

He had made a grievous error there, and Hermione's voice penetrated his sudden wave of panic. "It wasn't your fault either, you know."

He repressed the urge to cringe. He had such high hopes for her to somehow make him feel better, but the words just weren't the right ones. "I know."

"This whole war," she continued, gesturing to the ruined remains of Hogwarts, "_was not_ your fault. If anything, it was Voldemort's fault."

"I know that," he sighed, looking away while mentally adding, _"But if I had gone to die much earlier I could've saved a lot more—"_

"Harry?"

He turned to look at her again, and was startled by the intensity in her gaze. Perhaps he had been wrong about their chemistry? But no—she was with Ron. It was always _Ron_, wasn't it? She couldn't possibly desire Harry in the way that her gaze was implying…but Harry finally recognized the tears filling in her eyes; the intensity was the pain she was experiencing. Harry wanted to cry out in pain himself—to be rid of the second rejection of the day and so many lives…_so many lives lost_.

"You d-don't believe me at a-all, do you?" she whispered in a trembling voice. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. It was a wonder why she wasn't descending much like Cho had done in his fifth year, but Hermione wasn't moving, and Harry was as fixed to the stone as she. He realized with a start that this would be the first time she was crying about _him_, not Ron. It still held him frozen in place, as if he was afraid to clasp upon a moment of sweet, delicious happiness, that seemed to evade him just when he believed he knew how to keep it busy enough to stay.

"I—I'm _trying_ to," Harry replied softly in kind, wondering why they were talking so quietly. It seemed incongruous to do so, but Harry didn't dare shatter the moment lest it became something more than he hoped for. The silent second he had had Ginny, he had treasured it dearly, but now she was gone and Hermione was looking at him with a very desolate-looking hope in her eyes—hope that looked like she knew would never be fulfilled. He wondered if he were the cause of it. Just because he couldn't accept what had happened and move on? Since when did _Hermione_ feel this way towards him?

And just like that, the moment was gone (but of course, Ron's entrance could account for a multitude of lost moments). Hermione quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve and Harry swiftly looked away slightly panting, as if he had seen something indecent; shocked the whisper of something more had hovered in the air for a moment between them before disappearing _like yet another life…_

"Something's the matter?" Ron asked in concern looking between the two of them. Harry attempted to meet his gaze very slowly, as if willing the courage back into his limbs, but Hermione broke the rather strained silence.

"I—Harry was helping me feel better." _Is _**_that_**_ the way it went?!_ "I just miss my parents so much and—I knew he would understand better…" Harry could hear the 'than you' she left out, but Ron seemed to miss what she had discreetly implied. Ron was at her side in an instant and pulled her into his arms leaving Harry feeling very hot and bothered for some odd reason.


End file.
